


pinwheel

by legalmurder



Series: drabbles for oner, the boy group which is basically a double date [3]
Category: BC221 - Fandom, ONER, 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Rated T for language, and yang and yueyue are the same age, mentions of smoking and drinking, this was written in a hurry i didnt plan this out at all, yue yue is older than fanfan by one year here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 15:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legalmurder/pseuds/legalmurder
Summary: bu fan had not expected this, of all things. being separated from minghui for almost a year, he thought they would fizzle out- into minghui forgetting him, falling in love with someone better than him.





	pinwheel

**Author's Note:**

> the title is taken from pinwheel - seventeen!! support oner's debut in august, hope yall are having the best day!!

Bu Fan knew that it would never be the same. He knew it when he said it to Minghui that day on the balcony overlooking the city, as their breaths puffed up against the evening sky, resembling cigarette smoke: “Maybe some part of me will always wait for you to come back again.”

And he knew he was a child, hoping for something that would never be true. It had been a year, and even if they texted almost every other day, It felt like there was a lot they were not telling each other. And it was only natural to assume that Minghui had found someone else to kiss and hold and read Whitman to, someone who didn’t mind cigarette smoke as much as Bu Fan did and didn’t turn up his nose when Minghui ordered takeout for dinner. Even if the very thought made Bu Fan double up in misery, he knew it had happened.

What he hadn’t expected was it to be so easy. Indeed, when Bu Fan called Minghui on the phone sobbing in happiness that he’d _finally, finally got in,_ he hadn’t expected Minghui to start crying tears of relief too. It was like letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d held.

He hadn’t expected Minghui to say “I love you. Baby, I love you so much.” Over and over again, till they’d both calmed down and their voices were merely whispers and static. He hadn’t expected to feel the same, yet so, so much better. Because this was _them,_ like it had been for so many years. And this wasn’t going to go away, like Minghui had assured him so many times already on the phone this past year of them being apart.

He hadn’t expected to fall into an easy routine of going to class together; they ate lunch and played footsie under the table and subtly (not) smiled at each other over it; they had the same friend circle; they studied together in the evening in comfortable silence while Minghui interjected the silences reading a few lines of his book to Bu Fan; they showered together to “save water” (they ended up consuming more water though, ironically); they rode the subway together and raced each other to the supermarket.

Most of all, he didn’t expect Minghui to love him with the same intensity that he’d loved him with a year ago. He didn’t expect Minghui to make heart eyes at him while he devoured an entire hamburger in under a minute, or to hold his hand until it was physically impossible to, or still laugh at his lame attempts at jokes.

He told as much to Ziyang and Lingchao, who merely rolled his eyes, although he had a smile playing on his lips. They had steadily become best friends, all four of them- it was an odd combination of people, honestly. It was a wonder how well all four of them got along. Lingchao was still in school, in fact, a year younger than Bu Fan. How he had met Ziyang and started dating him was a whole other mystery that Minghui had forgotten to tell him. He made a mental note to ask him that sometime.

“Well, Fan-ge, you don’t want to know what he was like this past year. We were worried about him. We really were. He hung out with us and he made jokes and all that, but there was something in him that no one could get to. ‘S why we’re glad you came around, finally.” He picked at his French fries and sighed. “It’s been a long time coming. Sometimes, he would shut himself up in his room and just read books all day.” Ziyang, who was sitting beside Lingchao and playing with his hair, nodded.

“On the brighter side,” Ziyang started, “We already know too much about you. He would keep little notes and pieces of poetry everywhere. His best poetry would be about you, cheesy as it sounds.” Lingchao pretended to gag and Ziyang playfully smacked him.

Bu Fan nodded at them, seemingly overwhelmed at once.

He didn’t expect to be this happy. But perhaps, what mattered the most was not that. What mattered was that they’d lived through a long term separation like this and emerged more in love than ever.

So later in the night, when Minghui came over to Bu Fan and Linkai’s shared room, Bu Fan held him close and kissed the life out of him, not bothering to close the door. That didn’t matter anymore.

When they let go, Minghui was pink-faced and looked surprised. “What was that for, you hobo?” he whispered, trying to not smile. He failed.

Bu Fan sighed and held Minghui’s face in his hands. “I’m just… so fond of you. Thank you.”

Minghui almost asked him why. He expected him to elaborate too, but realized he knew why. _Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for all this._ Minghui was a Lit major, often credited with being good with words. But right now, he didn’t need words. For all the world, he just needed Bu Fan.

He hadn’t expected so many, many things.

Maybe this was for the best, Minghui thought, as Bu Fan dragged him inside and looked for his phone to order takeout. As he saw Bu Fan crouch under his bed to look for Linkai’s booze but came up empty and ordered coke instead, Minghui looked at him. Time and distance hadn’t pulled them apart. They were too young to decide on anything definite, but Minghui knew that whatever he did, he would want Bu Fan by his side, all his teeth displayed in a stupid grin.

There was a pile of letters back at his place, letters which he’d never sent Bu Fan because who the fuck even sends letters anymore? But he could picture them lazing around one Sunday afternoon, their legs tangled and the window open to make up for the lack of air conditioning- he could picture them going through the pile, and his heart swelled thinking of the future. That had never happened, at least not for while they were apart.

That’s why Minghui walked closer to Bu Fan as he was reciting his order to the nearest take-out place, and kissed his neck. He had a lot to thank Bu Fan for too, but most of all, he wanted to thank him for trusting him. He knew trust didn’t come easily to the younger, no matter how idiotic he looked the entire time.

Minghui didn’t say it often, and he regretted it when they were apart. _I should’ve told him how much he means to me._ Regret and sadness, that’s all he felt. That’s why he took special care to communicate more now, to use his words more to express himself in person. Bu Fan saw how much he tried, and he reciprocated every time. Even if it meant having Minghui wake him up at 4am just to let him know that he loved him, he always said it back, no questions asked.

And there was that contentment again, as Minghui rested his head on Bu Fan’s thigh and continued reading his book. It smelled like soy sauce and Bu Fan’s cologne, and he figured he wouldn’t be anywhere else. Listening to him breathe as he worked on his dissertation was, very strangely, one of the most comforting things he’d ever heard. The dichotomy of Bu Fan being such a noisy but comforting presence at the same time never failed to surprise him.

Without looking up from what he was typing, Bu Fan said, “I could spend my entire life like this.”

He heard Minghui’s breathing falter for a bit. “Mhhm.” He continued with his work, but this time Minghui’s fingers were tracing little patterns on his calf. There was an unheard _me, too_ in that sentence that Bu Fan caught. Somehow, he always knew what Minghui meant, even if the older claimed that he couldn’t communicate well. With them, it had always been this easy.

Of all the things he imagined, this wasn’t one of them.


End file.
